The Loner: Trail Of Blood Page 17

  “No, I suppose not,” The Kid said. “Are you the pastor here?”

  The man nodded. “That’s right.” He was young, no more than twenty-five, with a friendly, slightly rounded face and brown hair. He wore a pair of corduroy trousers and a work shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his forearms. “Thomas Kellogg.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Reverend.”

  The minister shook his head. “Please, no reverend. Just Tom is fine, or Brother Tom if you insist. I saw you gentlemen ride into town.” With a grin he pointed a thumb up at the steeple. “There’s a good view from up there, you know. In a land as flat as this, you can see a long way from any sort of elevation.”

  “I’m sure you can,” The Kid said. “We were hoping you could tell us where to find a lady named Shanley.”

  “Mrs. Shanley who runs the orphanage?” Instantly, the amiable expression disappeared from Kellogg’s face and his eyes and tone became guarded. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I need to ask her about something.”

  “And who are you, exactly?”

  The Kid kept a tight rein on his impatience. “They call me Kid Morgan.” That was the literal truth. He didn’t want to lie to a man of God.

  Kellogg surprised him by asking, “Not the Kid Morgan? The one in the dime novels?”

  The Kid had heard the old saying about life imitating art. In his case, it was more complicated than that. When he had decided to let everyone believe for a while that Conrad Browning was dead, he had hidden his true identity behind a new name. In choosing that name, he had considered the fact that authors working for publishing companies back east had written dime novels about his father, Frank Morgan. From there it had been a natural leap to calling himself Kid Morgan. Very few people actually knew that Frank was his father, so he didn’t think the name would give him away.

  However, he had never expected that he would become well-known enough, quickly enough, to inspire dime novels about him. Evidently those lurid, yellow-backed novels had an avid readership that was always hungry for more heroes, more adventure. The Kid had seen a few of the Kid Morgan books and been baffled and amused by them.

  Seeing his reaction, Kellogg hurried on, “Oh, I know, a preacher’s not really supposed to read such things. But they’re so exciting, and from time to time they teach good moral lessons. I mean, good always triumphs over evil in the end, doesn’t it?”

  “In dime novels, maybe,” The Kid said, again trying not to think about Rebel.

  “Well, it’s really an honor to meet you,” Kellogg said as he shook hands with The Kid. Then he grew more serious. “But I’d still like to know what your business is with Theresa. I mean, Mrs. Shanley.”

  If he was going to trust anybody, The Kid told himself, it ought to be a preacher. “I’m looking for some children.”

  “She has quite a few.” Kellogg frowned. “Although I’m not sure that a man such as yourself … I mean, a man with no permanent place of residence … I mean …” The minister was starting to look really flustered.

  “You mean a drifting gunfighter is not really the sort of man you’d think would want to adopt an orphan?”

  Kellogg nodded. “No offense intended, but yes, that thought did cross my mind.”

  “I’m not planning to adopt. I’m looking for two children, a boy and a girl. Twins. Between three and four years old.”

  “Again, in all good conscience, I have to pry into something that may not be any of my business—”

  “It’s not,” The Kid cut in. “But I’ll tell you anyway. I don’t have to adopt those children. They’re already mine. I’m their father.”

  For a long moment, Kellogg didn’t say anything. Finally, he asked, “Where is the mother?”

  “Dead,” The Kid said. “Do you know if Mrs. Shanley has them?”

  Kellogg waved a hand. “I’ve only been the pastor here for a year and a half, Mr. Morgan. Before that I was in Springfield, Missouri. There are several children of that age in Mrs. Shanley’s care, but I don’t know how they came to be with her or if any of them are brother and sister. I can tell you that I never noticed any twins among them.”

  “Fraternal twins don’t always look that much alike,” The Kid pointed out.

  “Oh, so they’re fraternal twins?”

  The Kid took a deep breath. “I don’t know.” It bothered him to admit that.

  It bothered Kellogg, too. “You expect me to believe these children belong to you, and you don’t even know if they’re identical twins?”

  “It’s a long story,” The Kid snapped. “Are you going to tell me where to find the orphanage or not?”

  Kellogg didn’t answer the question directly. “You know, when I first saw the two of you come into town, I thought maybe you were some more of Mr. Elam’s men.”

  Arturo said, “Do I look like a hired gunman to you, sir?”

  Kellogg shrugged. “I’ll admit, you don’t. Who are you?”

  “I work for The Kid here. I’m his batman, as the British call it.” When Kellogg looked baffled by that answer, Arturo added, “His valet, assistant. Call it what you will.”

  That just confused the minister more. “A gun-fighter’s got a valet?”

  The Kid tried not to get too exasperated. “Another long story. Please, Reverend … I mean, Brother Tom. The children I’m looking for may not be with Mrs. Shanley, but I have to be sure. Just tell me where to find her place, if you will.”

  “I’ll do better than that,” Kellogg said with an abrupt nod, as if he had made up his mind about something. “I’ll take you there.”

  “I’d be obliged for your help.”

  “If I can help reunite a father with some lost children, well, that’s just one more way of doing the Lord’s work, as I see it.”

  “Nobody’s going to argue with you there,” The Kid said.

  “It’s an easy walk,” Kellogg said as he led them out of the church. “Up here and around the corner on Fifth Street.”

  The houses of Powderhorn’s citizens were on the cross streets. Kellogg took them to one that rose three stories, with a gabled roof and trees growing around it. It would have been a stern, forbidding-looking place without the flower beds in front of it and the bright curtains in the windows. On his way into town, The Kid had been looking for some ugly, institutional-appearing building, probably of stone or brick. He wouldn’t have picked out that place as an orphanage. It looked more like the private home of a well-to-do businessman.

  “Mrs. Shanley and her husband were some of the original settlers in Powderhorn,” Tom Kellogg explained as he, The Kid, and Arturo went through a gate in the whitewashed picket fence around the front yard. “He had something to do with the railroad, and he also established a very successful store here. But then a fever came through the area, he caught it, and passed away. So did the Shanleys’ children. Since Mrs. Shanley was left alone, she took in the children of the families where both parents had died of the fever. That’s how the orphanage got started. At least, that’s the way I’ve heard the story. I didn’t live here then, you know. But I have no reason to doubt that it’s true.”

  Neither did The Kid. He felt his heart pounding harder as the three of them went up the walk to the front porch. His son and daughter could be in there, only a few yards away from him.

  “I’m surprised the kids aren’t out playing,” he commented, more to have something to say than anything else.

  “The younger ones are napping, the older ones are studying. Theresa insists on a good education.”

  Kellogg knocked on the door frame. A moment passed, and then the door swung open.

  The fact that Kellogg had a habit of referring to Mrs. Shanley by her given name should have warned him, The Kid thought, and so should have the preacher’s comment about her own children dying of the fever.

  But in his anxiousness to find out if his kids were there, he hadn’t considered those things, and so he was surprised to see that the woman standing in the doorway with a
smile on her face was a beautiful blonde who couldn’t be any more than thirty years old.

  Chapter 27

  “Hello, Tom,” the woman said to Kellogg. “What brings you here?” She looked past him at The Kid and Arturo. “And who are your friends?”

  “This is Mr. Morgan and his … helper,” Kellogg introduced them. He added to Arturo, “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

  Arturo swept his hat off and stepped forward to take hold of Theresa Shanley’s hand. “Arturo Vincenzo, madame,” he told her as he bowed. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand. “At your service.”

  Theresa looked a little surprised, as anybody would have under the circumstances. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mister … ah, Vincenzo, was it?”

  The Kid took his hat off and suppressed the impulse to toss Arturo aside. Fortunately, Arturo didn’t linger over his hand kissing. As he stepped back, The Kid moved forward and said, “Ma’am, we’re looking for a couple of children who may have been left here in your care a few years ago.”

  Theresa’s voice was a little cool and wary as she asked, “What’s your relation to these children, Mr. Morgan?”

  “They’re my—the Kid’s voice caught a little—“they’re my son and daughter.”

  “I only have children here who have been orphaned.”

  “That’s just it. The woman who brought them here would have told you some sort of story to explain why she had to leave them with you. She probably told you that their parents were dead.”

  “Why would she have done a thing like that?” Theresa wanted to know.

  Tom Kellogg said, “It’s probably a long story.”

  The Kid nodded. “It is.”

  “So why don’t we go inside?” Kellogg suggested.

  “Of course,” Theresa said. “Where are my manners? Come in, please.”

  She stepped back and ushered them into the house. They went into a comfortably furnished parlor.

  “Would you like some coffee or lemonade?”

  Kellogg smiled. “Lemonade would be nice. I’ve been replacing that worn-out bell rope in the steeple this afternoon. It was thirsty work.”

  “Sit down, gentlemen. I’ll be right back.”

  Though he was trying hard not to show it, The Kid’s emotions were running wild inside him. After all the danger and worry, he might be on the verge of reclaiming his children. Or rather, claiming them for the first time, he told himself, because he had never seen them before. It was a thrilling moment and a frightening one, all at the same time.

  He and Arturo sat down in armchairs while Kellogg took a seat on a sofa. While Theresa was gone, the minister said, “Something just occurred to me, Mr. Morgan. If the children are here … how are you going to prove that they’re yours?”

  The Kid drew in a sharp breath. “What do you mean?”

  “Well … do you have any sort of records, any documents that prove you’re the children’s father?”

  The Kid’s heart slugged in his chest. He had never thought about that. He had been so consumed with finding the twins, with the search itself, the idea of proof hadn’t entered his mind. He couldn’t come up with any words to say.

  “We have a letter from the mother of the children,” Arturo spoke up. “It explains why she set out to conceal from Mr. Morgan not just the location of the children, but also their very existence.”

  Kellogg held up a hand to stop him. “You might as well wait until Theresa gets back. Then you’ll only have to go through the story once.”

  “That’s a good idea.” The brief delay would give The Kid a chance to get his thoughts in order.

  Theresa returned a few minutes later with a tray and glasses of lemonade. The drink was considerably better than what he had had at the house of Ralph and Sara Beth Potter, The Kid discovered as he sipped the cool, sweet yet tart liquid.

  “Mr. Morgan is going to explain the situation,” Kellogg told Theresa as she sat down at the other end of the sofa from him.

  She nodded. “I’m eager to hear that explanation.” Caution, even outright suspicion, was still plain to see on her face.

  The Kid took a deep breath. “Several years ago, I was engaged to a woman named Pamela Tarleton. Our engagement ended before we were married. What I didn’t know at the time was that she was already … with child.” He glanced at Kellogg. “Sorry, Reverend. I mean Brother Tom.”

  Kellogg waved a hand. “I’m not here to judge, Mr. Morgan, just to listen.”

  “Well, I found out recently that Pamela—Miss Tarleton—gave birth to a son and daughter. Twins.”

  “You never knew about this?” Theresa asked.

  The Kid shook his head. “Not until a few weeks ago. I got a letter that she had left behind with a relative. She was upset with me, blamed me not only for ending our engagement but for the death of her father as well.”

  “Did you have anything to do with that?”

  “No, ma’am, I did not. But that didn’t stop Pamela from being angry with me. She deliberately withheld the news of the twins’ birth from me, and she informed me in the letter that she had hidden them away where I would never find them.”

  “That’s terrible,” Kellogg murmured.

  “I thought so,” The Kid agreed.

  Theresa asked, “What did you do when you found out about this, Mr. Morgan?”

  “Naturally, I set out to find the children. I tracked Pamela, the children, and a servant to a train bound for San Francisco. It seems like she might have stopped somewhere along the way and left the children in a place she thought they wouldn’t be found. So Arturo and I are having a look around in every likely settlement we come to.”

  “So when you heard there was an orphanage in Powderhorn …?”

  “What better place to hide a couple of kids,” The Kid finished for Theresa.

  “I take it that Miss Tarleton has dropped out of sight, too, so you can’t just ask her? I would think a court might compel her to talk.”

  The Kid shook his head. “She’s dead,” he said flatly. He didn’t offer any explanations for that.

  “I see.” Theresa regarded him solemnly. “Mr. Morgan, you have my sympathy. I’m sure it was quite a shock for you to find out that you’re a father, and I can understand why you want to locate your children. But I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  “Are you sure you don’t remember?” The Kid said. “It would have been about three years ago—”

  “There are no twins here. I’m certain,” Theresa said in a firm voice. “You see, I keep good records. I know where each of the children living here came from, and I assure you, no woman got off the train and dropped off a couple of infants.”

  The Kid felt a surge of anger and frustration. He had convinced himself that he might be close to the end of his quest. “No offense, Mrs. Shanley, but would you mind if I took a look at the children? I’d like to see for myself—”

  “What would you like to see, Mr. Morgan? That none of them the right age bear a resemblance to you or your late fiancée?” Theresa’s voice was sharp with some anger of her own. “Why would I lie to you about such a thing?”

  “Pamela Tarleton had a lot of money.” The Kid’s words were hard and blunt. “In tracking her movements, we’ve run into several people that she paid off to do what she wanted.”

  “I’m not one of them, and I resent the implication that I am,” Theresa snapped.

  The Kid shrugged. “Like I said, I meant no offense. But I don’t know you, ma’am. Taking care of a bunch of kids can’t be easy, and it probably costs quite a bit, too.”

  Tom Kellogg leaned forward. “I do know Mrs. Shanley, Mr. Morgan, and I can promise you she’s a truthful woman.”

  “Thanks, Tom, but I can defend myself.” Theresa gave The Kid a cool, level stare. “My husband left me fairly comfortable as far as money is concerned, and the members of Tom’s church have been very generous with both time and money to help me out. There haven’t been any problems until—” She stopped s
hort and didn’t finish.

  The Kid took note of that. “Until when? Until Pamela showed up?”

  “I told you, I never met the woman. And any problems I may have are none of your business.” She added with scathing scorn, “No offense meant.”

  “I’d still like to—”

  She didn’t let him finish. She stood up and said, “This visit is over. Good day, sir. Tom, would you please show Mr. Morgan and Mr. Vincenzo out?”

  Kellogg looked uncomfortable. In his profession, he was used to being a peacemaker, and he unwittingly had brought conflict into that house. But clearly, he was on Theresa’s side in the dispute. He stood up. “Gentlemen, please.”

  The Kid and Arturo got to their feet as well. The Kid gave Theresa a nod. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It wasn’t my intention to cause trouble. I just want to find my children.”

  “I understand that, but they’re not here.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Her face was firm and inflexible.

  Kellogg ushered them out of the parlor to the front door. As they reached it, a sudden clatter of footsteps on the stairs made The Kid pause. He looked back and saw several youngsters coming downstairs. His heart took a leap as spotted a young boy and girl, each with dark hair like Pamela’s. As they reached the bottom of the stairs they paused to look curiously at the strangers. The Kid didn’t see any sign of either himself or Pamela in their features. He also could tell they were a little older than his twins would be. “Come on, Arturo,” he muttered, trying not to let his disappointment get the better of him.

  They went through the gate in the fence and onto the street. Tom Kellogg lingered behind them, talking to Theresa Shanley through the open front door.

  Quietly, Arturo asked, “Do you believe the lady, Kid?”

  “She certainly sounded and acted like she was telling the truth,” he replied with a shrug. “I knew Futrelle was lying as soon as he opened his mouth. The question is, how much do I want to trust my instincts?”

  “I agree. Mrs. Shanley doesn’t strike me as the sort to be involved in anything nefarious. But it’s difficult to be sure what money can persuade a person to do, isn’t it?”